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PLAYS EXCHANGED. 





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Uncle Diet's Mistake. 



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UNCLE DICK'S MISTAKE. 



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CHARACTERS. <^ J 



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Richard Covington, a New York broker. 
Clarence Covington, his nephew, 
Mrs. LIVINGSTON, a charming young widow 
Lottie Livingston, her niece 

Sammy, hopeful son of Mrs. L. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 



A' means right of the stage ; C, center; A'. C, right center; /.., left; 
R. D., right door; /.. D. , left door, etc., I /•'.., first entrance ; ( '. /:'., upper 
entrance, etc.; /) /■'., door in Hat or back of the stage; i C, first groove, 
etc. The actor is supposed to be facing the audience 



COSTUMES. 

Richard Covington. Dark swallow-tailed coat, standing collas 
black silk scarf, buff vest, drab pants, gold-headed cam-, eye-gl i 
Mrs. Livingston. Neat, dark summer costume. 
Loi in . Pretty white muslin dress, with roses in her hair. 
CLARENCE. — Stylish light summer suit, straw hat, small rattan cane 
Sammy.— Knickerbocker suit. 



Time of performance^ forty minutes. 



Note. — Though this play is furnished with full directions f « >r th< 

it may be played in any ordinary room. 



UNCLE DICK'S MISTAKE. 



ACT I. 

SCENE. — Well furnished sitting-room of a summer hoarding house in the 
country. Small center table, L. C, back; sofa, R. C, back; e hairs, A', 
and L. 

Enter Uncle Dick, R. 2 E., hat and cane in hand. 

Uncle D. So this is the place where that hopeful young nephew of 
mine is idling away his time, is it ? Humph ! It's perfectly scandalous for 
a young, able-bodied man to be dilly-dallying around in this manner. He 
ought to have been brought up on a farm, as I was. I never had any play 
spells. My midsummer vacations were spent planting wheat, or sowing 
potatoes, or digging corn, or something of that sort. That young man has 
got to begin to do something. He's got to go to work. He seems to 
entertain the idea that I am the United States mint, and all he's got to do 
when he wants money is to turn the crank. But I'll shut down on him. 
I'll not stand it. I'll make a note of that. {Produces note book and pencil, 
and makes entry.). 

Enter Sammy, L. 2 £., whistling. Slops short on seeing Uncle Dick, who 
does not at first observe him. As Uncle Dick continues to talk and in- 
spect the room, Sammy mimics him, looking through an imaginary eye- 
glass, etc. 

Uncle D. {Looking around the room, inspecting things with his eye- 
<j-hss.) This is a fine place, I must say, Tor a man to come to in search of 
recreation. I'll recreate the young man when I get him back in the office. 

( 'nele Dick and Sammy, who have been turning and looking around, run into 
each other, and Uncle D. starts back astonished. 

Uncle D. {Staling at Sammy through his eye-glass.) Might I be per- 
mitted to inquire what particular part of this establishment you represent? 

Sammy. II eh? 

Uncle D. Are you one of the regular attractions of this institution, or 
— or what ? 

Sammy. Oh, talk United States. 

Uncle D. Well, then, who owns you? 

Sammy. Oh, I'm me mother's daw-ling. • 

Uncle D. Ah, yes; I was quite confident that you was somebody's 

3 



4 UNCLE DICK S MISTAKE. 

darling. You bear the usual ear-marks of a pet You must be a very great 
comfort to your mother. 

Sammy. You bet. She couldn't git 'long 'thout me, nohow. 

Uncie D. T should suppose it would be very difficult. By the way, 
rny diffident young friend, can you inform me where I'll be likely to find a 
young man by the name of Clarence Covington ? 

Sammy. You mean the feller that's in love with my Cousin Lottie? 

Uncle D. Oh, yes; I presume so. If she's a woman under 40, and 
he's seen her. he's in love with her. Do you know where the young man 
is? 

Sammy. Gimme a nickel, an' I'll tell you all I know about him. 

Uncle D. You've evidently been associating with him. {Gives money.) 
There's your wages. {Makes entiy in note book, speaking aloud as he 
writes.) For bribing mother's darling, five cents. Now, then, what about 
my interesting young nephew? 

Sammy. (Going K.) Oh, I don't know. I ain't seen him for two or 
three days. {Exit A\ 2 E.) 

Uncle D. {Stares after Sammy through eye-glass', then takes out note 
book and makes entry.) Received payment 

Enter Clarence /.. 1 E. 

Clarence. Hello — if here isn't Uncle Dick. Why, where in the world 
did you drop from ? 

Uncle D. Oh, I fell from New York. 

Clar. Well, it seems odd to see you anywhere outside of that dingy old 
office of yours. But I'm awfully glad to see you just the same. 

I 'iicie /). 1 Iumph ! You're out of money again, arc you ? 

C/ar. Oh, no; I'm all right on that scon. 

Uncle D. That's the most remarkable circumstance I\c heard ol in 
years. I'll make a note of it. (Does so \ 

Clar. You don't suppose that I look upon you simply as my banker, 
d<> you, uncle ? 

/ iicle /). ()h, no; not as an ordinary banker, You seem to regfcrd me 
more as a kind of a United States sub treasury, or something of that nature 

Clar, Well, there's no sordid motive at the bottom of my welcome in 
this case, at any rate. I've been wishing you were here for some time. I 
want you to meet some new friends of mine. 

Uncle D. If they're as expensive as the most of your friends have 
been, I don't care to indulge, thank you 

Clar. Oh they're not at all expensive. You see. I came here instead 
of going to the hotel down the lake yonder, just on account of the expense. 
' get a very fair room here, with, only two other persons in it for twenty 
dollars a week So you see I really am economizing this time. 

Uncle J). Yes, I see. There's no doubt whatever that nature in- 
tended you for a financier. But these friends of yours — are they business 
men, or what ? 

Clar. N — no; not precisely. The fact is, they are not exactly men at 
all. They're ladies, 

X/ncle D. Ah, yes; I see. It's quite natural that they shouldn't be 
exactly men, then. 



Clar. Certainly. And they're the most charming ladies in the 
world, too. One of them is Miss Lottie Livingston, and the other is Mrs. 
Livingston, a fascinating young widow and Lottie's aunt. They come 
from very old families. Lottie's grandfather was — 

Uncle D. (Interrupting.) Never mind their pedigrees. People with 
ancestors usually have very little else to be proud of. 

Clar. That's not the case in this instance, at any rate. Miss Lottie is 
the brightest, dearest, sweetest, most bewitching, handsomest — 

Uncle J). Yes, yes, yes; I have heard 'em described frequently. 
What about it ? 

Clar. Why, I'm in love with her, uncle. I fell in love with her the 
first thing. 

Uncle D I dare say you did. You'll be catching the yellow fever or 
small pox some of these times, if you don't use a little more caution. 

Clar. Oh, you'll not blame me, Uncle Dick, when you come to see 
her. But ycu never can have any idea how 1 do love; that girl. 

Uncle D. Nonsense, young man. I know all about it. I've been 
through the mill repeatedly. 

Clar. Do you mean to say, uncle, that you ever really and earnestly 
loved a girl ? 

Uncle D. Why, certainly. More than fifty of 'em. 

(7,/r. But you were never married were you ? 

Uncle D. (Considering.) N — no, I — I believe not. (f.ooks through 
vote book.) No, I was never married. I should have made a note of it if I 
had have been. 

C/ar. Why don't you get married, Uncle Dick ? 

Uncle D. Why — really — the — the idea hadn't occurred to me. 

Clar. Well, it occurs to you now, at any rate. You're rich, and couid 
certainly afford it; and I'm sure you'd find it a great deal more agreeable 
than living as you do now. Besides, it would probably be cheaper in the end. 

Uncle J), (/defectively.) Do you — do you think so? 

Clar I haven't the slightest doubt of it. If I were you, I wouldn't 
hesitate an instant. I'd get married at once. 

Uncle /). (After a pause spent in considering the subject ) Well, I 
will. I'll make a note of it. (Writes in note book, repeating aloud, as 
usual.) Get married. Now, I'm a man of business, and time is money. 
I'll attend to this little matter first, and then we'll look after our other 
affairs. 

( 'lar. Why, you don't mean to say that you're going to be married 
right off —now — instantly ? 

Uncle D. Why, certainly. To be sure. When I make up my mind 
to do a thing, I do it. I'm not one of your procrastinating kind. 

Clar. But what about the lady? You can't be married without first 
finding a wife, you know. 

Uncle /K (Considering.) Humph! That hadn't occurred to me. 
Do you — do you consider it really essential? 

Clar. (Laughing.) Oh, yes; it's quite essential. You'll have to find 
a wife the first thing. 

Uncle D. I'll make a note of it then (Does so.) Find wife. Now, 
then, where can I procure such an article? 

Clar. Why, really, 1 hardly know about that. 



6 UNCLE DICKS MISTAKE. 

Uncle D. Why. what do you mean, young man ? You suggest that I 
get married, and insist that a lady is an absolute necessity; and now you 
don't know where she's to come from. If you've got a marriageable female 
at your disposal, produce her. If yuu haven't, don't talk matrimony to me. 

Clat. I've struck it, uncle. Lottie's aunt. It would be a famous 
match. 

Uncle D. Very well, then. Trot her out. 

Clar. Oh, but you're rushing things a little too fast. You must be 
presented in regular shape, and make an orthodox proposal. 

• Uncle D. It seems to me there are a good many preliminaries to go 
through in this business. However, {looks at watch) if 1 can get back to 
town by that 4:20 train, it'll do. Go ahead with your exercises. 

Clar. By the way, uncle, I wish you'd do me a little favor. 

/ r ncle J). I'm sorry, but I left my check book at home. 

Clar. Oh, it's not that. 1 told you that 1 was in love with Lottie 
Livingston, but I haven't found the coinage yet to tell her so. and I don't 
know whether she cares two straws for me or not. Now, making a proposal 
for a lady's hand seems to be such a matter of fact business with you, 1 wish 
you could talk with Lottie for me. 

rude /). Talk with her yourself, why don't you ? 

Clar. I can't do it. I've tried to a hundred times; but my heart 
always comes up into my mouth, and I can't say a word. 

I iiele I). Well, my heart is not in the habit of making any such excur- 
sions as that. I'll talk to the young lady. By the way, what would you be 
likely to say to her, provided your heart remained down in your stomach, 
where it belongs ? 

Clar. Oh, 1 should tell her how I have loved her devotedly and 
passionately for months. How my love has grown from day to day, until it 
absorbs every fiber of my being, flow I live in the sunshine of her smiles, 
and am wretched and miserable when absent from her side. And — oh, a 
great many other things like that. 

Uncle D. {Who has been taking notes.) I should say that would be 
sufficient. I just want a hint or two. It has been years since I was in the 
habit of proposing to people. Now, then, if you'll just send in the candi- 
dates, I'll get to work at once. 

Clar. {Looking out, A'.) Ah, there they come, now. (Pointing.) 
They're just crossing the lawn yonder. 

Enter Sam my, unperceived, /.. 3 E. He listens. 

Clar. The one with the white hat is Miss Lottie; the one with the 
black hat Mrs. Livingston. 

t 'uele J) (Making entry in notebook.) White hat for Clarence; black 
hat for myself. All right. I'll tackle them at once. I hope the widow will 
be ready to be married in time for me to catch that 4:20 train. 

Sammy. Oh, she'll be read) all right. She's been ready for more'n 
two years. 

Uncle D. and Clarence turn hastily, and Sammy scoots out L. 3 E. g finning, 

Clar. That little terror must have heard what we said. We'll have to 
hunt him up, and bribe him. or he II give the whole scheme away. 



UNCLE DICK S MISTAKE. 7 

Uncle D. If that young man don't grow up to be an alderman, he'll 
miss his vocation. It would bankrupt a millionaire to live in the same house 
with him long. Go on. We'll have to head him off, I suppose. 

Exit Clarence ana' I r ncle D. L. 3 E. 

Enter Ahs. Livingston and Lottie \ A'. 2 E. 

Alts. I, This uncle of Mr Covington's, who lias just arrived, is a 
bachelor, is he not, Lottie ? 

Lottie. Yes; and the oddest, most eccentric one that ever lived, I sup- 
pose. They say that he is so completely wrapped up in his business that he 
carries it with him wherever he goes. He insists on having everything down 
in black and white, and when anything is said or done, or thought of, he 
makes a note of it on the spot. 

Mrs. L. But he is rich, isn't he? 

Lottie. Oh, yes; so they say. He must be a millionaire, at least; and 
perhaps a billionaire. 

Airs. L. Ah, well, he has a right to be eccentric, then. We must 
manage to cultivate his acquaintance at once. 

Entrr Sammy, L. 2 E. 

Sammy. (Ln a whining tone.) Say, ma. 

ALrs. L. Well, darling; what is it? 

Sammy. I want to go and play in a mud-puddle. 

Mrs. L. Oh, mamma couldn't let you do that, precious. You'd catch 
an awful cold, and the doctor would have to come and give you a whole lot 
of nasty medicine. 

Sammy. (Complaining ly.) You don't never let me do nothin*. 

ALrs. L (Coaxingly.) Oh, now; mamma's pet mustn't say that. I'll 
let you do anything in the world that — 

Sammy. (Interrupting:) Say, ma. 

Mrs. L. Well, sweet. 

Sammy. Why don't you have a white hat, just like Cousin Lottie's? 

ALfs. L. Why, I don't know, dear. Would you like to have mamma 
have a hat like Cousin Lottie's ? 

Sammy. Yes; I want you to trade hats with her, so's you'll look aice, 
the way she does. 

ALrs. L. ( To Lottie.) The dear child has such remarkable taste; it's 
really wonderful. We'll have to please him, of course. (Hands her own 
//at to L^ottie, receiving Lottie's in return, ami placing same on he> head.) 
There, pet; does that suit you ? 

Sammy. Yes. Say, ma. 

Mrs. L. Well darling. What is it? 

Sammy. I want you to take me down to see the boats. 

ALrs. L. Well, you shall go and see the boats; you haven't seen them 
since dinner. Come on, darling. We'll be back soon, Lottie, dear 

Exit Airs. L. and Sammy, L. 2 E. 

Lottie. I wonder if this uncle of Mr. Covington's is as backward about 



8 UNCLE DICK S MISTAKE. 

asking for what he wants as he is himself. Here I've been flirting, and 
dancing, and boat riding, and picnicking with him for the last two months, 
and although I'm sure he has just been on the point of proposing a dozen 
times, his courage has always failed at the last moment (Ln.patiently) 
Oh, why don't the men have a little more spunk, I wonder? Well, he 
needn't expect me to help him out any. I cannot control my heart; bul if 
he ever gets my hand he will have to ask for it. (Looking out /..) As I 
live, that queer uncle is coming this way. (She lets hei hat fall behind her 
back, where it hang* by its strings.) 

Enter Uncle Dick, L. 2 E. 

Uncle D. (Bowing to Lottie.) Servant, ma'am {Looks shaiply at her 
head, and glances round the room , on table, etc., as if looking for her hat, 
while he speaks.) Ah — fine weather, ma'am. Warm for the season. (Looks 
in note />ook, then around again.) Ah yes; to be sure; it does look like 
rain, as you say. (Examines note hook again, reading, aside.) White hal 
for Clarence, black hat for myself. Humph! nothing said here about a 
bare-headed one, that I can see. (V'o Lottie.) Leg pardon, ma'am, but 
is your name Livingston? 

Lottie. (Bowing.) That is my name, sir 

( 'ne/e I). Ah, yes; to be sure. You're the — the other one, I presume. 
That is — (catches a glimpse of the hat hanging on her hack — aside.) Hello; 
she's got a hat of some kind there behind her. (Tries to look around her, 
rises on tiptoe to !ook over her, etc., while he is talking.) \ es I've — that is, 
you have — 1 mean, we've both- er — you have heard of me, perhaps. Ms- 
name is Covington— Richard Covington, broker. Wall street. By the 
way, ma'am who lives in that white house over yonder (pointing A'., behind 
Lottie) the one right behind you, there. 

Lottie. (Without turning.) That is Mr. Brown's place. (Aside.) 
Well, he is an odd genius, to be sure. 

( ' nele D. (Still pointing ana' motioning her to turn and look.) Well, is 
that Mr. Brown just coming out of the gate? 

Lottie. (Without looking.) Oh, no; Mr. Brown went to New York 
this morning. 

Uncle D. (Aside.) Confound the woman, any way. (V'o Lottie.) 
Beg pardon, but can you tell me who that lady is that's just passing? 
(Pointing in same direction.) 

Lottie turns to look. 

Uncle D. (Sees hat—aside.) Black, by Jove. Let's see. (Examine* 
notebook.) White hat,- Clarence; black hat, myself. That's my property, 

sure. 

Lottie. ( Turning to him.) You must be mistaken, sir. There is no 
lady passing, that I tan see. 

Uncle D. Ah - no; she just went around the corner. By the way, 
ma'am, I have a little business with you, if you will favor me with your 
attention lor a short time. 

Lottie. (Surprised.) business with me, sir? 

Uncle /). Yes; but don't be alarmed, now; it's nothing of importance, 

are you. (Looks in note hook.) The fact is, I — ah, yes; here it is. 



UNCLI DICK S MISTAKE. 9 

My dear madam, I have loved you devotedly and passionately for months. 
My love has grown from day to day, until it absorbs every fiber of my being. 
1 live in the sunshine of your smiles, and am wretched and miserable when 
absent from your side. And — and — well, that appears to be the whole case. 
Oh, yes; to be sure; here's another item. Get married. My dear madam, 
the aforesaid are my sentiments. Now, then, will you become the wife of 
Richard Covington ? That's me, you understand — broker, Wall street, also 
real estate and insurance. 

Lottie. You astonish me, Mr. Covington. It's absurd for you to say 
you have loved me for months, when I am certain you never even saw me 
until you entered this room. 

Uncle D. Certainly, madam. T agree with you entirely. Matters of 
this kind usually are very absurd. I never saw any sense in them, myself. 

J.ottic. You are frank, at all events. If you arc wretched and miser- 
able when absent from my side, your whole life heretofore must have been a 
very unhappy one. 

Uncle D. {Producing handkerchief.} Oh, it has — it has. I never 
realized before how miserable I have been. 

Lottie. Since you can only live in the sunshine of my smiles, I wonder 
that you have managed to exist at all 

Uncle D. {Plaintively.) It has been very hard. I've been on the 
point of giving up the struggle several times. 

Lottie. Poor man. And now you want me to marry you, so that your 
future life will be a path of roses, I suppose ? 

Uncle D. Yes — that's it; path of roses; ami so I can catch that 4:^0 
train. 

Lottie. And if I refuse, your heart will break, I suppose? 

Cnele D. Oh, yes; there's no doubt of it. It always does. 

Lottie. May I ask, sir, if your nephew is aware that you propose to 
confer this exalted honor upon me? 

Uncle D. Clarence? Oh, yes. I never should have thought of it if it 
hadn't been for him. 

Lottie. {Indignantly.) Then please tell him that I fully appreciate 
his kindness in interfering with my affairs, aad that I am humbly grateful to 
him for trying to find me a husband. 

t 'i/cle D. Oh. you're entirely welcome, I assure you. There's nothing 
small about Clarence. 

J.ottic. So I perceive. As for your broken heart, sir, you will have to 
bestow it upon some one else. I shall never engage myself to a man until I 
have known him at least half an hour. 

Exit Lottie, R. 2 E. 

Uncle D. (Gazes after ho through his eye-glass until she has dis- 
arpcu/cft, the// takes out note booh ai/J makes entry.) Re-jeeted. Now that 
all comes from talking about misery, and broken hearts, and love, and 
wretchedness, and things of that nature. When I propose to people here- 
after I'll not take the advice of any young sprig. I'll go about the business 
in my own way. 



IO UNCL1 KICK S MISTAKE. 

Sammy enters L. U. /.. , hands in pocket. He strolls across back of stage* 
gazing at ceiling, walls* and everywhere except in ( r ncle Dick's directipn, 
singing softly to himself : 

'Tis a maxim you should heed, 
Try, try again; 
• If at first you don't succeed, 
Try, try again. 

Uncle D. Look here, young man. 

Sammy comes down and stands R. (.'.,• Uncle D. L. C. 

Uncle IK You ought to try and get over that extreme modesty and 
diffidence of yours. You really should cultivate a little confidence and self- 
assurance. It will be hard, 1 know, but you ought to d<> it. 

Sammy. (Diaws a large ledger and carpenter's pencil from under //is 
coat) All right, governor; I'll make a note of it [Writes in hook* then 
closes it and puts it under his arm* pencil he land his ear* and marches out ft. 
2 E. whistling.) 

Uncle J). {Sta>es at Sammy during above performance* and until lie is 
out of sight.) I wonder if that boy's mother would lend him tome for about 
fifteen minutes. I believe I'll ask her. 

I'lntei Mrs. Livingston, L. 3 £., unperceived by Uncle J). 

Mrs. L. (Aside.) Ah, this must be the rich bachelor uncle. Alum ! 

Uncle D. (Turns — bows to Alts. /..) Servant, ma'am. Ah— hello; 
(aside, referring* to note book) white hat, Clarence. Well, I hope he'll have 
better luck than I had. 

Mrs. /.. (Advancing.) Am I right in supposing that this is Mr. 
Covington, the uncle of my young friend Clarence Covington ? 

I nc/e 1). Quite right, ma'am. And your name is Livingston, is it not ? 

Mrs. I.. That is my name, sir. 

Uncle D. [Aside.) 1 don't blame the boy a particle. I love her my- 
self. ( To Mrs. L.) You say that Clarence is a friend of yours ? 

Mrs. /.. Oh, yes; a particular friend of mine, I assure you. 

Uncle J). Then you are perhaps aware that he's in love with you? 

Mrs. I. (Astonished.) In love with me, sir ? 

Uncle J). Yes. The fact is, he has it very badly. I never Knew a 
case. 

Mis. /,. You astonish me, sir. lie has certainly never given me any 
reason to suppose that he cared for me except as a friend. 

Uncle IK No; it appears that he has a difficulty with one of his lungs 
that has prevented him from telling you about it. 

Mrs. I.. Hear me; how dreadful. 

Uncle /'. Yes; it's very sad. lint he'll recover in time, 1 think. 

Mrs. /.. ( >h, 1 hope so. 

Uncle I). Well, now, about this matrimonial business. (Prepares to 
make entiy in note book.) What is your decision, ma'am ? 

Mrs. L. (Agitated.) Oh, I don't know what to say. It's so very 
sudden, you know. 



UNCLE DICKS MISTAKE. II 

Uncle D. Well, I suppose I might give you five minutes or so to make 
up your mind in. I've no desire to hurry you at all. 

Mrs. L. I suppose I might as well decide at once. Clarence is a good, 
dear fellow — and — and — 

Uncle D. {Making entry.) Ac-cepted. 

Saw my. {Heard without, R.) Say, ma. That old covey with the 
eye-glass has been makin' love to cousin Lottie. I see him a doin' it. 

Mrs. L. Sammy, you naughty boy, come here instantly. 

Entef Sammy R. U. E. — stops on seeing Uncle D. 
Mrs. L. Come to mamma, darling. 

Sammy comes down — she embraces him. 

Mrs. L. Do you know that you are going to have a new papa, pet ? 

Sammy. I thought you'd ketch on after awhile. 

Mrs. L. {Reprovingly.) Sammy ! 

Uncle D. Beg pardon, ma'am, but does that {pointing to Sammy) go 
in, in this little arrangement of ours ? 

Mrs. ].. Why, to be sure. Sammy is the sweetest child that ever 
lived. You can't help loving him when you become acquainted with him. 

U title D. Y — yes, I — I presume so. In fact, I loved him at first sight. 

Mrs. L. You will love him more when you come to know him well. 

Uncle D. I sincerely hope so. By the way, I'd better go and tell 
Clarence of his good fortune, I think. Don't let anything happen to that 
boy, ma'am, unless you want to break the hearts of all of us. 

Exit Uncle D., L. 2 E. 

Sammy. Say, ma. I ain't got to have that feller for a pa, have I ? 

Mrs. L. Why, of course not, you silly boy. Your new papa will be 
Mr. Clarence Covington. 

Sammy. Oh, cracky! I thought he was goin' to be my cousin. 

Mrs. L. {Severely.) Nonsense, Sammy. You are a naughty boy to 
ever think of such a thing. Now run away and play, like a good boy. 

Exit Sammy, whistling, L. 1 E. 

Enter Lottie, R. 2 E. 

Lottie. Oh, aunty; you never can think — ) j, , 

Mrs. L. Oh, Lottie; I'm sure you can't guess — ) °^ 

Mrs. L. Oh, I've such news for you. 

Lottie. And so have I. 

Mrs. L. So perfectly splendid. 

Lottie, So perfectly absurd, you mean. 

Mrs. L. Why, Lottie, what in the world are you talking about ? 

Lottie. Why, about that horrid old bachelor, Mr. Richard Covington, 
of course. 

Mrs. L. Horrid ! Why, I think he is simply delightful. 

Lottie. Delightful, indeed. What do you think of his wanting me to 
many him ? 

Mrs. L. Surely nobody could blame him for that, Lottie. I should 
want to marry you myself, if I were a man. 



12 UN'CI.E DICKS MISTAKE. 

Lottie. Well, then, what do you think of his being sent to me on such 
an errand by his nephew, Mr. Clarence Covington? 

Mrs. I.. {Embarrassed.) Why — I — 1 suppose Clarence thought it 
would be nice if they could both be — that is, he wanted his uncle to share- 
in his— oh, Lottie; can't you guess? Clarence has proposed to me That 
is, his uncle has done it for him, 

Lottie. {Astonished.) Clarence Covington proposed to you? 

Mrs. L. Yes, dear. I knew you would-be surprised. Isn't it splendid? 

Lottie. (Agitated.) Yes, it's per — per — per — fectly d — d — delightful. 
(Sobbing, with handkerchief to her face.) 

Mrs. L. Why, Lottie, dear, what in the world are you crying for ? 

Lottie, (/"'row behind her handkerchief .) Oh, I'm — I'm so g — g— glad. 
I ho — ho — hope you'll always be h — h — ha -happy. ( Turns away, A'.) 

Enter Uncle D. an J Clarence, L. 2 E. 

Uncle D. {To Clar.) It's all right, my boy; I've settled everything. 

Clar. Mow can I ever repay you, uncle? (Crosses to Lottie) My dear 
Lottie, you can't begin to think how happy I am. ( 7'ries to take her hand.) 

Lottie. (Coldly drawing back.) I congratulate you, Mr. Covington. 

Clar. Why, Lottie, it seems to me you don't give a fellow a very warm 
reception. And you've been crying, too, as I live. m 

Uncle D. (Gives a loud a-hem, and makes frantic efforts aside to at- 
tract Clarence s attention.) 

Clar. Eh? (Looks around.) 

Lhiele D. (Motions with his head, and points with his thumb over his 
shoulder to Mrs. L., winks and frowns, and otherwise expresses in panto- 
mime that Clar. is talking to the wrong woman.) 

Clar. (Failing to comprehend ( nele Dick's gestures, turns again to 
Lottie.) You're not offended with me because I didn't tell you myself, are 
you, Lottie? I couldn't do it, you know. I've always loved you from the 
very first; but somehow I never could tell you so. 

Lottie. (Coldly.) It is rather late in the day for you to tell me so now. at 
any rate. You had better reserve your love speeches for your affianced wife. 

Clar. (Bewildered.) And if you are not my affianced wife, then in 
the name of mischief who and where is she ? 

Uncle /). ( If r ho has been fuming away by himself.) Why, you in- 
fernal blockhead, here she is. {Pointing to Mrs. L.) 

(During the foregoing Mrs. L. has been first astonished, then indignant; 
and now stands with back toward Clar., tapping the floor angrily with //<•/ 
foot, and fanning herself vigorously.) 

Clar. What — Mrs. Livingston? You don't mean to say I'm engaged 
to her, uncle ? 

Uncle D. Why, to be sure you are, yon ungrateful rascal. 

Enter Sammy, I.. 2 E. 

Sammy. (To Clar.) Hello, pa. 

Uncle D. (Places his hand on Sammy s head, and pushes him orr> to 
Clar.) This is your property, too. 

Clar. But Mis. Livingston — I -you see -oh, confound it all, there's 
been an awful mistake made here, somehow. 



UNCLE DICK S MISTAKE. 



13 



Mrs. L. {Haughtily.) You can spare yourself all explanation, sir. I 
have had a few minutes for reflection since your uncle spoke to me. and I 
can assure you that I would not bestow my hand on such a man as you for 
any earthly consideration. 

Clar. {Joyfully.) Oh, thank you — thank you. {Seizes her hand and 
shakes it heartily.) You've made me the happiest man in existence, Mrs. 
Livingston. You see how it is. Lottie. It's all a mistake. I never thought 
of loving any one but you. 

Unele D. Young man, I'm ashamed of you. You're the most fickle- 
minded young scapegrace I ever met. You told me it was the one with the 
white hat you loved. 

Clar. {Looking from one lady to the other.) White hat — why, they 
must have been trailing hats since 1 saw them last 

Mrs. L. {A ngiily.) Samuel Livingston, you little reprobate, I believe 
you had those hats changed on purpose. 

Sammy. (Blubbering, with his fists in his eyes.) You don't s'pose I 
wanted that old duffer for a pa, do you ? 

Mrs. L. You just ought to, any way, to punish you for being sj 
naughty. 

Clar. Come, Lottie dear, you're not going to punish me for a simple 
misunderstanding, are you ? I can't help loving you, and I don't want to 
help it; and I shall never, never be happy again until you tell me that you 
will be my wife. 

Lottie. I think you have been sufficiently punished for your share in 
the misunderstanding, Clarence, and I don't want you to be unhappy, and — 
and — that is, I— 

Clar. {Interrupting.) And you agree to become Mrs Clarence 
Covington. Oh, you're the dearest girl in America, Lottie, and I'd love 
you more than ever jf I was only a little larger. It's all right, uncle. Con- 
gratulate me. 

Uncle D. Just wait a minute or two, young man, {Takes out note 
book and turns to Mrs. Livingston.) Madam, I have loved you devoted Iv 
and passionately for months. My love has grown from day to day, until it 
absorbs every fiber of my being. I live in the sunshine of your smiles, and 
am wretched and miserable when absent from your side. Will you be my 
wife? 

Mrs. L. {Promptly.) I will, sir, if only to prove to that young man 
that I'm not pining at all for him. 

Uncle D. Very well, then, that's settled. Now, young man, I'm 
ready to congratulate you. ( They shake hands.) 

Clar. And I return the compliment most heartily. You are a lucky 
man, uncle, and fully deserve your good fortune. By the way, Uncle Lick 
{pushes Sammy ove> to him) this is your property, too. 

Sammy. {1 o Uncle D.) Hello, dad. 

Uncle D. {Sighing.) Well, we all have to take the bitter with the 
sweet. I anticipate great pleasure in reconstructing this young man after a 
more approved model; and I trust that the events of this day will result in 
such happiness* for us all that we shall never have reason to regret the 
occasion of " Uncle Dick's Mistake." 
Lottie. Clarence. Uncle D. Sammy. Mrs. L. 

CURTAIN. 



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Now Ready, No. 1. 
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CONTENTS OF NO. 1. 



Keep the Mill A-going. 

Faces in the Fire. 

In School Days. 

The Two Roads. 

Extreme Unction. 

Baron Grimalkin's Death. 

Words and Their Uses. 

Fritz's Troubles. 

Two Christmas Eves. 

An Interview Between the School 

Directors and the Janitor. 
To the Memory of the late Brigham 

Young. 
How Liab and I Parted. 
Old Grimes' Den. 
The Average Modern Traveler. 
At My Mother's Grave. 
The Newsboy's Debt. 
Mrn. Potts' Dissipated Husband. 
I See the Point. 
The Professor in Shafts. 
Mr. Sprechelheimer's Mistake. 
God's Time. 
The Little Folks. 
The Old Schoolmaster. 
The Revolutionary Rising. 
Pat's Letter. 
How to Go to Sleep. 
Nothing. 

De Pen and De Swoard. 
A Greyport Legend— 1797. 
The Life-Boat is a gallant Bark. 
Birthday Gifts. 
The Superfluous Man. 
Sockery Setting a Hen. 



The Water that Has Passed. 

Medley— Mary's Little Lamb. 

The Launch of the Ship. 

Aunt Kindly. 

Evening at the Farm. 

Battle of Beal An' Duinc. 

Passing Away. 

Mark Twain and the Interviewer. 

Daybreak. 

True Life. 

Modern Loyalty. 

Unfinished Still. 

Allow for the Crawl. 

The Silent Tower of Bottreaux. 

Gentility. 

The Drunkard. 

The Poetical Patch Quilt. 

What is Life? 

Ait Thou Living Yet? 

New Year's Chime. 

Song of the Chimney. 

A Domestic Tempest. 

Common Sense. 

How Mr. Coflin Spelled it. 

The Old Man in the Palace Ctr. 

Ego and Echo. 

A Night Picture. 

A Penitent. 

Rum's Ruin. 

The Babies. 

What Is It to Me? 

Our First Commander. 

Horseradish. 

The Doom of Claudius and Cynthia 



For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of pric* 



THE ETHIOPIAN DRAMA. 

Price, rj cts. each, post-paid. 

These plays are all short, and very funny. Nothing 1 poor in the list. They 
serve admirably to give variety to a programme. The female characters may be 
assumed by males in most cases. Where something thoroughly comical, but 
unobjectionable is wanted, they are just the thing. 

STAGE STRUCK DARKY. 

A very funny "take-off" on tragedy; 2 male, 1 female. Time 10 minutes. 
STOCKS UP— STOCKS DOWN. 

2 males; a played-out author and his sympathizing friend; very funny and full 
of *' business " and practical jokes. Time 10 minutes. 

DEAF— IN A HORN. 

2 males; negro musician and a deaf pupil. A very interesting question sudden- 
ly enables the latter to hear. Full of first-class " business." Time 8 minutes. 

HANDY ANDY. 

2 males; master and servant. The old man is petulant and t! ' servant makes 
all sorts of ludicrous mistakes and misunderstands every order. Very lively in 
Action. Time 10 minutes. 

THE MISCHIEVOUS NIGGER. 

A farce; 4 males, 2 females. Characters: The mischievous nigger, old man, 
lhrench barber, Irishman, widow, nurse. Time 20 minutes. 

THE SHAM DOCTOR. 

A negro farce ; 4 males, 2 females. This is a tip-top farce. The "sham doctor'* 
Otn not fail to bring down the house. Time 15 minutes. 

NO CURE, NO PAY. 

3 males, 1 female. Doctor Ipecac has a theory that excessive terror will cure 
people who are deaf and dumb. His daughter's lover is mistaken for the patient 
to the terror of all. Only one darky. A capital little piece for schools or parlor. 
Time 10 minutes. 

TRICKS. 

5 males, 3 females. (Only two darkys, 1 male, r female.) A designing old 
Step-father wishes to marry his step -daughter for her money. She and her lover 
plan an elopement. The old man discovers it and has an ingenious counter-plot— 
which fails completely, to his discomfiture. Time 10 minutes. Suited to parlo" 
performance. 

HAUNTED HOUSE. 

2 males. A white-washer encounters " spirits " in a house he has agreed to 
white-wash. Plenty of business. Time 8 minutes. 

THE TWO POMPEYS. 

4 males. A challenge to a duel is worked up in a very iunny way. Time 
6 minutes. 

AN UNHAPPY PAIR. 

3 males, and males for a band, 'fwo hungry niggers strike the musician? 
for a square meal. Good for school or parlor, and very funny. Time 10 minutes. 



Any Play on this List I Cts. I 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



Plays by T. S. DENISON. 

ODDS WITH THE ENEMY. 

aa in five a tad 4 fe- 

male characters. Time, 1 hours. 

SETH GREENBACK. 

una in lour acts ; 7 male and 3 fe- 
male. Time, 1 hour 15 m 

INITIATING A GRANGER. 
A ludicrous! . Time, 25 m. 

TWO GHOSTS IN WHITE. 

AhumTou- i on boarding- 

school life; j lemale characters. Time, 
25 m. 

THE ASSESSOR 

A humorous sketch; 3 male and 2 fe- 
male. Time, 15 m. 

BORROWING TROUBLE. 

A ludicrous farce; 3 male and 5 fe- 
male. Time, 30 m. 

COUNTRY JUSTICE. 

A very amusing country law suit; S 
male characters. (May admit 14.) Time, 

THE PULL-BACK. 

A laughable farce; 6 female. Time, 
20 min. 

HANS VON SMASH. 

A roaring farce in a prologue and one 
act; 4 male and 3 female. Time, 30 m^ 

OUR COUNTRY. 
A patriotic drama in three parts. Re- 
1 male, 3 female, (Admits 9 male 
it; female.) Four fine tableaux. Time, 
about t hour. 

THE SCHOOL MA'AM. 

A brihar.t coined v in four acts; 6 male, 
5 female. Time, 1 hour 45 min. 

THE IRISH LINEN PEDDLER. 

A lively farce; 3 male, 3 female. Time, 
45 m. 

THE KANSAS IMMIGRANTS; Or. the 
Great Exodus. 

5 male, 1 
Time, ,50 m. 

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING. 

IS THE EDITOR IN? 

AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 

A drama in ^ male and 2 

female. lime, 1 hour 15 m. 

PETS OF SOCIETY. 
A farce in high lif . Time, 

30 m. 




018 603 075 8 

male characters. Time, 1 hour 45 m. 

UNDER THE LAURELS. 

A drama in five acts; a stirring' play, 
fully equal to Louva the Pauper. Five 
male, 4 feirale. Time, 1 hour 45 m. 

THE SPARKLING CUP. 

•ma in five ! 
male and 1 female. 



Plays by H. Elliott McBride. 

ON THE BRINK. 

A temperarce drama in two acts; 12 
male, 3 female. Time, 1 hour 45 in. 

A BAD JOB. 

A farce; 3 male, 2 female. Time, 30 m. 

PLAYED AND LOST. 

A sketch; 3 male, 2 female. Time, 
20 m. 

MY JEREMIAH. 
A farce ; 3 male, 2 female. Time, 25 in- 

LUCY'S OLD MAN. 

A sketch; 2 male, 3 female. Time, 20 
m. 

THE COW THAT KICKED CHICAGO. 
A farce; 3 male, 2 female. Time, 25 m. 

ILL STAY AWHILE. 
A farce ; 4 male. Time, 



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SCRAP BOOK READINGS. 

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WORK AND PLAY. 

1 for tiie little folks. This is a 

Pail I . of very 

es in letters, 
number phy, language, 

animated nature, 1 

Part 11 1 1 trades, 

pantomimes, etc. all ORIGINAL. — Price, 
in Maniihi boards, post paid, 5 



T. S. DENISON, Publisher, CHICAGO. 



